


it's a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight

by littleoldthunderbird (littleoldrachel)



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Family, Gen, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoldrachel/pseuds/littleoldthunderbird
Summary: Scott will always insist that actually, Gordon’s first snow was the year he was born, to which Gordon says, “yeah, like I remember that, Scooter,” but if you ask Gordon, his first snow was when he was five and three quarters.(Written for the TAG Secret Santa 2020)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. first snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissSquidTracy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSquidTracy/gifts).



> my first time writing gordon! he's a lot of fun!  
> written for the tag secret santa 2020 - my prompt was gordon + first snow

Over the last few years, Kansas has seen a spate of mild winters and wet summers - not even a snowflake to be seen. But this year is The One, Gordon can feel it. After years of envying the way Scott and Virg wax lyrical about snowball fights and school closures, this is Gordon’s year.

This particular morning had dawned like any other; a fine mist gradually curling a retreat from muddy fields, breath like dragon’s smoke before him as he and the other kids wait for the school bus, and a chill in the air that almost sounds like Mom (“are you sure shorts in December are a good idea, kiddo?"). Once sandwiched between a barely conscious Virgil and foggy window, Gordon entertains himself drawing in the condensation. 

“Look V, it’s a dolphin!” He pokes his sleepy brother in the side until Virgil raises his head, eyes bleary, and removes an earbud. 

“So it is, Gordo,” Virgil says, though Gordon’s ‘dolphin’ looks more plane-like than aquatic. 

“Do me a squid,” Gordon says, yanking at his big brother’s sleeve and employing the big round eyes he’s fast learning will get him what he wants. Virgil obliges - of course he does, because who could resist Gordon - and the rest of the journey is spent with Virgil poking out increasingly obscure sea creatures in the condensation. 

Outside the bus, the sun rises, the fog clears, but thick white clouds remain. Virgil happens to glance up as he walks his brother to the kindergarten classroom, and says, “hm, I wonder if it’ll snow today,” and Gordon stops dead.

“Today?! Is it gonna snow? Today?”

Virgil suppresses a yawn - how is he still tired? - and shrugs. “Johnny thought it might. S’the right clouds for it.”

An electric buzz shoots through Gordon’s limbs and he can feel himself practically vibrating with excitement. Actual snow! Today! He can’t wait, even as Virgil tugs him across the ice-slicked playground towards school.

It’s going to snow!

* * *

Or so he thought.

Gordon’s been watching the window all day, to the extent that Mrs Cartwright has had to call his name three times to drag his gaze from it. He can’t help it that her classes are boring-schmoring and he already knows how to sound words out. 

He’s only been in kindergarten for a year or so, but he’s less than impressed. John always gushed about school, sure, but John’s a nerd (he’s allowed to say that, because Johnny’s his brother), so Gordon took that with a healthy pinch of salt. Thanks to Virgil, Gordon’s heard enough about the arts department to last a lifetime, and again that’s not really his jam... But Scott, too, was enthusiastic about his classes and Scott was cool. 

Well, you know what’s not cool, Scotty? 

Being stuck next to Barry Duckworth, who still mixes up his ‘b’s and ‘d’s. 

“Gordon, please don’t make me ask you again.” 

Gordon smiles serenely at Mrs Cartwright until she’s turned back to the smartboard, then tips his gaze back to the window. He can’t help that his brain goes a million miles a minute, until it snags on something, like the threads of Dad’s old Christmas sweater. And then that’s suddenly all he can think about for hours at a time; it’s why he’s so good in his swimming classes, because he can fixate on cutting through the water as fast as possible like nothing else, relishing in one of the few times he can outpace his brain. 

Anyway. Thanks to Virgil’s offhand comment, today his brain is absolutely fixed on snow and there’s nothing he can do except watch as the sky gets greyer. 

Maybe Johnny was wrong, and they weren’t the right clouds, after all…

* * *

Except, Johnny’s never wrong - something he’ll only truly come to appreciate later in life - because when the school bell finally rings for hometime, he and Darry Buckworth spill out into a playground that’s ever so slightly dusted white.

Gordon grabs Barry’s arm excitedly, has the bizarre desire to lick the icing sugar-like substance. He resists, only because his mom’s standing at the gate and the desire to fling his arms around her outweighs the urge to get a good taste of the playground. 

Besides, he tells himself, he can play in the snow later.

But there’s no time - there’s never enough time. Between rushing to his swimming lesson, dropping Virgil at his piano teacher’s place, taking Scott to Scouts, collecting John from Science Club, and the constant backdrop of little Allie’s wailing, the Tracy family is zombie-like over their dinner that evening. 

It’s all Gordon can do to shovel chicken pie in his mouth as his eyes droop lower and lower, until they finally close all the way. He would have face planted straight into the remaining saucy goodness on his plate if it weren’t for Scott’s lightning quick reactions. 

Before he can find the words to ask about the snow, he has Gordon tucked up in bed. His eyelids are too heavy to even glance out of the window, and so Gordon surrenders to sleep with weary acceptance.

* * *

The next morning, Gordon wakes to a whole new world he’s only seen in picture books. 

He can’t believe how bright it is, it almost hurts to look at the dazzling, unfamiliar shapes across the fields. The sharp edges of every building have been softened beneath a wedge of snow, the field boundaries vanished under an endless white expanse, trees that were bare only yesterday now swaying beneath the weight of their new finery. Delicate crystals of ice dangle from the windowsill. Tiny snowflakes trim the edges of his window like lace. 

“John. John, you were right!”

John grunts something back at him, rolling over and Gordon rolls his eyes.

One glance back outside has him letting out a whoop loud enough to wake even a hibernating bear. Gordon flings his door open, banging into his oldest brothers’ room and shaking Scott’s shoulder till he stirs with a groan. 

“Snow, Scott, it’s snowed.”

A growl from across the room has him retreating behind his oldest brother’s bed, because a barely awake Virgil is a Dangerous Thing. 

“Gords, no,” Scott hisses. “You woke him.”

“Worth it!”

“Would someone like to tell me why I’m awake at 5:00am?” Virgil is the biggest softie in the world, with a heart of twenty-four carat gold, but in that moment his voice is deadly. 

Scott and Gordon exchange Looks for a split second, and then Gordon makes his escape, darting from the danger zone and leaping into his parents’ room instead. “Mom, mom, moooooom!” 

Dad cracks an eye open, murmurs something to Mom that sounds suspiciously like “save me from your son,” and shoves his head under the pillow. 

“Like he didn’t get this from you, Captain Snowball Fight,” Mom retorts, but she’s got the fondest smile on her face as she looks down at her husband. 

Dad peeks his head from under the pillow. “You love me anyway,” he says, sleep lines crinkling an unfiltered, joyful smile.

“More than life, Jeff.”

And then she’s ducking her head to kiss him - and - gross -

Gordon makes a loud retching sound, dramatically flinging himself across the sheets and thereby crushing any romantic atmosphere. 

Mom rolls her eyes, but it’s just as fond. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“It SNOWED, Mom it actually snowed! Johnny was right and it’s all white outside! I can’t wait to play in it, please can I go? Please? Do you think we’ll get the day off school? Please say yes, pretty please? I can’t-”

Dad swoops down, cutting him off with a surprise tickle attack and Gordon shrieks, writhing down the bed and flopping to the floor with a thud. 

He loves these moments with his parents more than anything else in the world - maybe even more than blue-ringed octopi, which is A Lot because have you seen them?! Living in a family of five brothers is absolute carnage and Gordon adores every second of it. But sometimes, it’s like he gets a little bit forgotten in the chaos, even more so since Alan was born.

Speaking of which, Alan, of course, chooses that moment to wake up, big blue eyes blinking slowly at them. Until he puckers his face up and begins howling. 

“I’ve got him!” Dad says, rubbing a hand over his face as he makes his way to Alan’s cot. “What’s up, little man? What’s with all the noise? You're gonna be like your big brother?” 

Alan brandishes his arms and Dad scoops him up, tucking up him against his chest and humming quietly. “Luce, love, I’ve got him,” he says softly, “I’m gonna need to go in to work this morning, so why not take this little sea monkey to play outside whilst you can?” He nods his head at Gordon, who perks up immediately.

“Actually, Dad, I don’t think I would be a sea monkey, they’re not much fun!”

“Oh, my mistake, what would you be then, son?”

“A seal, I think. They love to play allllll day long.”

“Sounds about right,” Mom says, ruffling his unruly blonde curls. “Alright then, little seal pup. Wrap up warm, let’s go play!”

* * *

John is awake by the time Gordon returns. As Gordon flings his pyjamas off, yanking on thick socks and sweats, John is there to steady him when he tries to shove both legs into the same hole of his trousers. 

“You’re going to want those gloves,” John says, pointing at the heap of discarded clothes on the floor. 

“Nah, I want to be able to feel the snow! Otherwise I won’t make the best snowballs.”

John rolls his eyes, but tucks Gordon’s gloves into his own pocket. “More fool you when you lose your fingers to frostbite.”

“What’s that?”

“John’s right, kiddo.” Mom is standing in the doorway, scarf wound about her neck and fluffy socks up to her knees. “Gloves on, or you’ll end up like Captain Hook!”

“He lost his hand, silly, not his fingers! Now come on!” 

Gordon seizes his Mom’s hand and John’s sleeve, dragging them excitedly down the stairs to the door, bouncing uncontrollably as Mom unlocks it. 

Finally.

Finally! 

Gordon darts outside, stumbling in the thick layer of snow that sinks him knee deep and lets out a cry of delight as he sinks his face into it, and-

“Noooooooooo!” he yelps - yelps, not squeals, thank you very much John - and leaps back towards the door. “It’s so cold!”

“Of course it’s cold, doofus,” John says. His tone of voice would be cruel if it were anyone else, but it’s John so of course it’s not. “It’s made of ice. Ice is cold.”

“But… but…”

A cold explosion strikes him in the chest, and Gordon turns an expression of utter betrayal to see his Mom grinning maniacally. “A little cold never hurt nobody!” she yells, ducking for another scoop of snow. 

Gordon lets out an indignant whoop, grabs a handful of snow and flings it back at her. It falls apart before it reaches her, snow scattering everywhere. The ice sticks to his hands, and he shivers at the dampness of it. 

Before he even has to ask, John has whipped out the gloves and is holding them out to him. He gratefully accepts, just as Scott rushes out of the house to join them. 

“Snowball fight!” he yells, eyes shining with glee. 

Virgil follows, still yawning a little, but he perks up at Scott’s words. “You’re on,” he says with a grin. 

Mom holds up a hand, “Scott and John against me, Virgil and Gordon.”

Scott hesitates. “But there’s three of you, and only two of us!”

“War is war,” Mom says, “there’s no shame in admitting defeat-”

“Oh, you are on,” says Scott at once, as they all knew he would. “Come on, Johnny. We have some snowballs to make.”

Virgil bounds over to Gordon and Mom, and together they begin compiling their own mound of weapons. Mom shows Gordon how to pack it into a ball so that it doesn’t splinter apart, whilst Virgil quietly beavers away, producing snowballs at double the speed. Gordon’s cold but he’s also pressed between his mom and brother, and the warmth in his heart is absolutely worth the occasional shiver. 

Finally, they’re ready.

With a blood-curdling battle cry, Gordon launches the first snowball. It falls short - by a good few feet - splattering at Scott's feet. 

Scott starts to laugh, head back, just in time for Gordon's second snowball to strike him directly in the neck. 

Gordon lets out a cackle that has Scott narrowing his eyes and pelting snowballs in their direction. Mom hurls them back as good as she gets, snowflakes catching in her dark hair, whilst Virgil works to replenish their fast dwindling stock. The enemy - his brothers, that is - put up a valiant effort, but burn through snowballs faster than John can produce them. Soon they are backed up against the wall of the old barn, and Gordon is breathless and exhilarated and joyful. 

"Surrender or die!" he bellows, holding a snowball in each hand.

"Gordon," Mom says sharply, and Gordon sighs.

"Fine. Surrender or suffer!"

Even as they raise their hands in unison, John's grin stretches his cheeks wide and Scott's eyes gleam with amusement. 

Gordon is fit to burst with all of the warm, happy feelings inside of him, coursing through his veins like the ocean currents. 

* * *

Once a truce has been declared and Gordon's Squad are pronounced the rightful champions, the five of them drift in groups to catch their breath. It’s hard work racing round in snow, especially when you’re practically wading in it, and Gordon flops to the ground to relish in his victory. 

Virgil, predictably, begins creating, rolling a ball of snow round and round till it's as tall as Gordon! Scott and Mom head inside, tracking slush pools in their wake. John plops down beside Gordon, and then leans all the way back.

“What are you doing?” Gordon asks. John is now thrashing his arms and legs through the snow enthusiastically, flattening it beneath his gangly limbs. 

“Snow angel! You try!”

Gordon shoots him a dubious look, but obeys, copying John’s movements. John helps him up, and they survey their handiwork. One small, wonky angel, one with huge wings and long legs. 

“Snow day, guys!!” Scott sprints back outside. “The bus got stuck coming up the hill!”

If Gordon’s being totally honest, he’d forgotten today was technically a school day at all, too caught up in the fun and frivolity of experiencing his first ever snow.

“Try to look a little less delighted, Gordon,” Mom laughs, back in the doorway with Alan in her arms. He’s cocooned in layer upon layer, eyes wide at the landscape around him. Scott heads to where Virgil is jabbing sticks into his snowman’s sides and holds out a carrot. Beaming, Virgil takes it and turns to Gordon. 

“Wanna help make your first ever snowman?”

“Yes!” 

“You can do his nose! Here,” Virgil puts the carrot in Gordon’s hands, and lifts him beneath the arms so that he’s level with the snowman’s head. Grinning, Gordon pushes the carrot in, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. 

It’s the perfect day, and it’s barely 9:00am. No day will ever top this day. 

Unable to find the words to express all the happiness dancing little jigs in his chest, he grabs Scott and Virgil, clinging to them in a cuddle. John joins them, and before long, Mom and Alan are there too, Allie clutching at Gordon’s curls. 

It’s overwhelmingly wonderful: warming in a way that is less to do with physical heat and more to do with the absolute overflow of love in his heart. 

Later that day, they’ll stand around the kitchen, dripping over the tiles and arguing over who gets the first dibs of hot water. They’ll regroup in the lounge, Scott and Virgil curled together on one couch, John at their feet, Gordon tucked between Mom and Dad (who admits defeat when the car engine refuses to sputter into life) on the other. They’ll cradle Mom’s magical hot cocoa in thawing fingers - and Gordon’s will be more marshmallow than hot chocolate - and put on a movie they’ll be too busy talking through to pay much attention. Dad will light a fire, guiding Scott through creating the perfect log stack, and the crackling heat of it will lull them to sleep one at a time. 

It will be the perfect day.


	2. second first snow

After they lose Mom, Gordon finds he can’t stand the snow, unable to marry that wonderful day with the same substance that leeched life from his mother. 

And he’s not alone. Virgil can’t even bear to be cold, takes to bundling layer upon layer in winter, long sleeves even in summer. John watches weather forecasts anxiously, cross-examining different stations’ reports and awaiting the first signs of black ice. Even little Allie learns from Scott’s fretting that snow = bad. Gordon can’t help but wonder if they are all following their father’s lead - a man who increasingly finds any excuse to reach for the whiskey bottle, but especially when the cooler weather closes in. 

It doesn’t snow again, or at least, not enough to blur road and field into one endless white landscape. Instead the tarmac becomes a slushy stream, refreezing into deadly ice runs (or incredible tobogganing slopes, if only Gordon could bring himself to join the other kids without intense anxiety of what it might bring). 

And then - all at once - they’re living on a tropical island (“really, Dad, that’s a little bit extreme even for you,” Gordon smirks at his father, receiving a Look in return), and Gordon thinks he’ll never have to worry about snow again. His experiences with it are now strictly limited to rescues - because people will insist on attempting skiing in a blizzard. As much as they all love what they do, rescues aren’t exactly the place to form happy new memories and so Gordon never quite loses his dislike of snow, even as he grows old enough, smart enough, skilled enough to know a thousand different ways to save lives from it. 

(It’s in the same way that Virg has now shed most layers, even if he still wears a plaid shirt and undershirt in tropical heat. Or how John still tracks snowstorms obsessively when he thinks nobody notices - well Gordon’s on to you, Johnny. Or how Scott insists that snow rescues are done in pairs or not at all.) 

(They cope as best they can. Because they’re International goddamn Rescue.)

(And the world needs them to be coping). 

* * *

Except this year, apparently. 

They’re fast approaching the end of a second year without Dad, preparing to stagger through their second Christmas without him. 

And then all of a sudden, John gives himself a concussion - he won’t tell them how and EOS mournfully says that she’s sworn to secrecy - up on Five, and has to be dragged down to recover. In the same twenty-four hour period, Scott misjudges the speed at which he could hit the ground and fractures his wrist, much to Virgil’s consternation (“I was right behind you, Scott, if you had just waited twenty seconds-”). Except then it was Virgil’s turn to eat humble pie, because he nearly passed out in the middle of flying back to the island, because! Turns out you shouldn’t keep quiet about having the flu!

And then Alan slips off a cliff in the midst of a tropical storm, and whilst he’s fine (“I’m okay, guys, really - see, not even a scratch”), he’s understandably shaken up, and the Smother Brothers descend full force to take him off rescues.

And so, as brilliant as Gordon is, he’s not quite up to the task of single-handedly running International Rescue, even with Kayo picking up the slack - they’re only human. 

All in all, tensions are running high. 

Grandma’s all: the-world-won’t-fall-apart without-you-watching-over-it-Jonny, humankind-can-get-by-without-International-Rescue-for-a-week-Scott, so-help-me-God-Virgil-get-back-into-bed, taking out his older brothers in one fell swoop as only she can. She doesn’t so much pose the idea of spending their week off somewhere that isn’t Tracy Island, rather she tells them to pack their warmest clothes and be ready to leave that afternoon “or so help me God.”

* * *

The Squad descend on Kansas with subdued hearts and confiscated paperwork (“you’re on holiday, Scott”). They have happy memories here, of course - almost all of their memories involving Mom took place in this rickety house and its surrounding fields. Every room contains echoes of her singing, ghostly brushes of her forehead kisses, the smell of hot cocoa.

Which is why it’s also so very painful to be here again. 

They haven’t come here since Dad’s disappearance - because he’s disappeared, he’s not gone. So why can Gordon also feel the ghosts of his Dad’s arm around his shoulders? 

That first day, Grandma recruits the non-incapacitated members of the family (Kayo, Gordon, Alan and herself) to decorate the house, whilst Scott stomps about, lamenting that he can’t join in properly. The four of them make short work of the job, and before long, the lounge is lit with the soft glow of golden fairy lights. They’ve dragged the artificial tree from the loft, and Gordon feels oddly nostalgic for the cheap plastic baubles they’ve strung around it. 

Kayo has just thrashed Gordon in a race to make paper chains quicker when John says quietly, “hey. Snow.”

Virgil staggers up from the couch, cloaked in blankets and waving off Scott’s hovering hands. He makes his way to John’s window seat at the same time as Gordon. 

Light snowflakes are indeed falling from thick white clouds, pirouetting gently downwards to settle in dusty heaps on the frost-tipped yard. The landscape turns slowly whiter around them, and the snowfall gets heavier. 

Alan ducks under Scott’s non-injured arm to peek out too, and Scott swallows hard, likely remembering the last time they stood here and watched the snow fall in this way. 

They all feel the ache of the two missing family members like a physical wound. Gordon finds himself having to blink hard to shake off the visions playing tricks on his eyes. A tiny Gordon, gloveless, clueless, but joyful, rushing towards Mom, whose arms are outstretched. Virgil’s face as he concentrates on positioning the snowman’s features. John flopping his limbs into the snow to make angels. Dad and Scott, hurling snowballs at one another battling it out to the bitter end.

Virgil wraps an arm around Gordon’s shoulders, and with a start, Gordon realises he’s crying. 

Only they aren’t tears of grief or anger or pain - though he’s definitely felt all of those things. 

These are tears of a man overwhelmed. 

But the memories are good ones, they nestle in his chest, temporarily defrosting the icy tendrils of anxiety that have taken root there. They pour warmth and love and belonging into his chest, filling the pit of sorrow in his stomach and rushing to overflow in every small, aching part of his body. Gordon tips his head against Virgil’s shoulder, takes a shaky breath, and smiles. 

John is tucked against Gordon’s other side, Kayo’s fingers laced in his own. Alan is nestled into Scott’s chest, who has a hand on Virgil’s back too. 

United. As they always are. 

Outside, the temperature drops to freezing and the roads become treacherous. But the snow also dances in mesmerisingly beautiful patterns, and the trees sway as they gather their fine trimmings.

And here, in the centre of it all, is his family. 

His wonderful, loving, giving, crazy, ridiculous family. God, he’s the luckiest man alive. 

Maybe towards the end of the week, when John’s able to stand without wavering, and Virgil’s stopped mumbling deliriously, they’ll go tobogganing near the quarries. Hell, if they time it right, Scott will probably try and join them - the jury’s out on whether or not they can sneak that past Grandma. 

But for now, Gordon’s perfectly content to stand with his family, and watch the snow fall.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> hit me up on [tumblr](https://little-old-rachel.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel)!  
> take care & love always xoxo


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